


Woodwork

by QuicksilverMaximoff



Category: Marvel, X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles is a Teacher, Erik is a Big Dorkface, Erik owns a hardware store, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:54:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuicksilverMaximoff/pseuds/QuicksilverMaximoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is a second grade teacher with absolutely no skill when it comes to building birdhouses. It's a good thing his neighbor is talented with wood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woodwork

Charles sat at the table outside his house and cursed as the hammer once again hit his hand instead of the nail he had set into the piece of wood in front of him. 

"Damned kids and their birdhouses," he muttered under his breath as he stuck his hand into the ice bath he had decided to keep next to him six hits ago, and re-positioning the nail once the throbbing in his finger went down. 

Charles, a beloved second grade teacher, was asked by his students if he could make a birdhouse so that they could feed and watch the birds that came all day, every day. Knowing full well that he was not capable of building a birdhouse, and that the kids insisted that a store bought one just wasn't the same (Charles knew that the little devils could somehow tell the difference), he had intended to deny their request until he saw twenty three pairs of bright eyes staring up at him, all promising tears should he say no. 

So of course, he told them that they'd have a birdhouse at the end of the week. That was on Tuesday.

To be honest, the project wasn't looking promising. Now, on Thursday night, all Charles had were some crooked wooden planks that he couldn't get together for the life of him. At that moment, Charles wished that instead of reading books all day as a teenager and ditching woodshop class, he had actually showed up to more than two lessons, rather than bribing the teacher with well-written essays about different kinds of trees. To this day, Charles isn't sure how he had managed to succeed in maintaining an A in that class. 

Charles realized that he should have been paying attention when the hammer slammed down onto his hand for what was probably the fourteenth time tonight, at least. He let out a loud yelp, followed by a string of curses, and stuck his hand back in the ice bath. 

"You look like you could use some help," a voice said from behind him. Charles turned to see his neighbor, to whom he hadn't spoken since the man moved in two months ago, watching from the fence separating their yards with a bemused look on his face. 

"What makes you think that?" Charles asked sarcastically, wincing as he took his hand out of the water. Charles' neighbor, whose name is Erik Lehnsherr, a fact that Charles had learned when the man's mail had ended up in his mailbox a few weeks ago, didn't bother walking to the gate. Instead, he swiftly hopped over the fence and directly into Charles' yard, not bothering to ask if it was okay. Erik walked over to Charles, flinging a bandage on the table beside him. 

"You might want to put that on your hand," he said as he grabbed the wood, nails, and hammer from under Charles' nose. Charles took the bandage, wincing once more as he began to wrap up his hand. 

"How long were you watching me?" he asks. Erik shrugged. 

"Long enough to see you slam down a hammer on your hand at least ten times. I would've thought you were doing it on purpose after the third if you didn't look so surprised." Erik set the pieces next to each other and sighed. "What are you trying to make again?"

"A birdhouse," Charles said miserably. "The kids wanted one." 

"Kids?" Erik asked, and Charles noted that the smile on his face faltered ever so slightly.

"In my class. I teach the second grade," he clarified. The smile returned to Erik's face.

"Well, for starters, this most certainly is not a birdhouse," Erik said as he grabbed one of the spare planks next to Charles. "Saw?" he asked, and Charles passed the tool to him. Erik set to cutting out the board for the house while Charles watched intently. 

"How do you know how to do this?" he asked. 

"In Germany, every man is trained in birdhouse building from the tender age of three. A birdhouse is built each day until the age of thirteen, and then we begin to build houses. Every evening, we are welcomed back as heroes and treated to schnitzel and beer," the man deadpanned. Erik smirked at Charles' befuddled expression. "In other words, I own the hardware store in town." Charles nodded, and they continued to make small talk as the process went on. Erik invited Charles to do things he couldn't mess up- holding a plank here, passing a nail, marking a little 'x' there. Within the hour, Charles had an impressive looking birdhouse in front of him. "Are you painting it?" Erik asked. Charles shook his head. 

"The kids would kill me; they have to do the art." Erik checked his watch and glanced back at his house. 

"I have to get going. It was nice spending time with you, Charles. Even if you are hopeless at woodwork," he said with a wink. He turned to go, but then swung back around to quickly scribble a number on one of the small, unused boards Charles had originally cut. As Erik was walking away, Charles called after him. 

"Stop by tomorrow so I can repay you!" Erik jumped over the fence, just as he had before. 

"Maybe I will!" he shouted as he headed to his house.

*

The next day, Erik received a text.

_They want another one for the pigeons._

Erik smirked, sprayed some cologne on, and went on his way to Charles' yard.


End file.
